


With the Twist of a Knife

by CaptainThirsty1945



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angel Bucky, Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Demon Steve, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is a little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-19 16:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5974144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainThirsty1945/pseuds/CaptainThirsty1945
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had one job, and along comes Steve to screw everything up. Honestly, Bucky's day just went bad to worse as he realized what he hole he was getting himself into. Too bad it was too late to do anything about it. His fate had been sealed long before they had ever met.</p>
<p>Or the one that Demon!Steve was a little shit and Angel!Bucky was stuck with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge

Prologue

For as long as there’s been a humans on earth, there have been definitions for what’s right and wrong, a colored scale if you will. The more pure of heart or kind of actions were on the white end of the scale while the more sinister and evil intentions were on the black end of the scale. This was how the humans perceived the world around them. The more pure of souls, those who had been selfless and merciful in life, went on to live in heaven to become an angel while the people who had been cruel and maleficent went on to become demons to further corrupt the pure of heart. The vast gray area in between the two extremes is where the humans were classified. On the dirty streets of Brooklyn, New York, in the midst of the worst economic depression known to man, was Steven Grant Rogers and his beautiful mother Sarah, both lost in the ocean of gray. Mrs. Rogers was a widowed nurse with beautiful wavy blonde hair and legs that went on for miles. Steve was her young son with a list of medical ailments that was taller than he was that should have died more than ten times over. It was not little Steve however, that had gotten sick this time however, but his mother Sarah. 

“Ma! I’m home from school!” Steve’s childish voice rang through their over-sized closet of an apartment. “The nice lady from down the hall, Mrs. O’Leary, gave me chicken noodle soup for you so you can get better faster,” he chirped as he put his things from school down so he could feed his mother their meager dinner. As he walked into her room, he got a good look at her. Her golden hair was limp, lacking the majority of its usual luster. She had pale skin that made a sheet look like it had color and the bags under her eyes told a story of countless nights of tossing and that quickly developed into a severe lack of a decent night’s sleep. A blind person would have been able to see that Sarah Roger’s health was failing. While for most people, this was the time to say last goodbyes before their beloved would go onto the afterlife, for Steve it was time for him to try and find a solution, any solution, to fix his mother’s rapidly declining health.

When the dying mother heard her son’s childish voice, she smiled tiredly, weakly calling out for him. “Steve…” She knew she didn’t have much time left, and she was determined to spend her last moments with him, even if it was just for this short while. “Come sit with me baby, I need to talk to you,” she murmured softly. Steve did as was asked of him like the good little boy that she’d raised him to be. “I’m not going to be around much longer. I need you to be strong for me, can you do that for me Steve?”

The cherubic little boy nodded, tears welling up in his eyes a little bit. “I understand ma, I’ll try,” he replied softly, gently reaching for her hand. She grasped it with what little energy she had, smiling at him sadly.

“Be good for me Stevie. My sweet little angel,” she said softly as she closed her eyes. Her child got up, kissed her forehead as he let go of her hand, and then left their over-sized closet of an apartment to see if he could find someone, or something, that could help his mother regain her strength to fight the tuberculosis that was currently killing her. Earlier in the week while he’d been at Sunday mass, he’d heard rumors about a book with magical properties and was hoping that maybe he could have the book heal her. As he neared the church, a sharp, piercing wind cut through the thin jacket he was wearing, giving him a chill that ran up his spine that wasn’t entirely just from the frigid weather. A sense of foreboding came over the child as he crept closer and closer to the old building. While most people would have stopped in their tracks because of the crippling feeling, Steve barreled on, walking onto the property and into the threshold. The priest there, Father Falsworth, gave Steve a smile that held a thousand forbidden secrets

“It’s rather late to be out by yourself, isn’t it? What brings you here my son?” he asked, his kind, gentle face making Steve feel a false sense of security.

The child was straightforward with his wants, confident in how he addressed them, almost as if he’d been rehearsing them in his head. “I’m here to see the magical book that some of the other church goers were talking about before Sunday mass last week. I’m hoping that it might help my ma get better.”

Father Falsworth’s eyes flickered a radioactive green color as his smile only grew. “Is that all you seek my child?” he asked. The little boy nodded once. “You don’t need the magic of a book to give you what you seek. You just wish for your mother to get over an ailment?” At this, Steve nodded again in confirmation, giving the priest a skeptical look. “I’ll heal your mother for you. How does that sound?”

Steve blinked, clearly taken aback that it could be that easy. “Really? You can do that?” he questioned, rubbing his arm out of habit.

“Of course. I’ll heal her, and come back in ten years or so to collect payment. Nothing of importance of course,” the Father smiled, ruffling Steve’s hair. Now Steve was a smart little boy, and wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea of payment. Was the father going to get a doctor for them? They certainly couldn’t afford that right now with his ma being bedridden.

“...Okay,” he agreed. The priest smiled devilishly, leaning over and kissing Steve’s hairline. 

“Go home now little one. Your mother needs you,” was the last thing he said before the little boy nodded excitedly, thanking the priest before he bolted out of the church, running only as far as his fragile lungs would take him before he walked the rest of the way home. When he arrived, he saw color reappear on his mother’s cheeks as she heated up the chicken noodle soup that their elderly neighbor had made. 

Steve completely forgot about the deal he’d made with the priest that stormy winter night when he was twelve years old. He reached the age of twenty before he got killed by the very same disease that was meant to end his mother’s life. He hasn’t known that he’d sold his soul to a demon, and never would have if he’d only had known what his fate was going to become. Sarah Rogers had meant to die that night in 1930. But she hadn’t, and this of course, is where our tale begins.


	2. Chapter 2

In the bustling streets of modern day Brooklyn, New York was a man with blue eyes that seemed to be deeper than the darkest ocean and hair so golden that it looked like a halo atop his head. This man was built like a brick house, but he walked as though he was as small as a mouse, his footsteps light and almost dainty. As he roamed the crowded sidewalks and crossed the busy streets, he kept his eyes peeled as he watched the people around him. They all seemed to be in a rush to get somewhere else after they’d picked up their morning coffee. The blond man joined them, blending in with the crowd with practiced ease as he weaved his way around the busy intersections. He walked into a bustling coffeeshop, waiting in the line so he could buy one of the overly priced coffees, politely smiling at the barista at the counter. He paid for his coffee, politely taking the steaming cup as he made his way back into the throng of people. Business was slow at the moment, that wasn’t a good sign. He really hated when people got all righteous about how they wanted to spend their time. Was it really so much to ask that society would just let go of the whole righteous act? He didn’t think so. He was starving for Christ’s sake. A guy has to eat after all, and honestly this coffee wasn’t gonna do it for him. He sighed as he continued walking, watching the people around him with a sense of boredom. He remembered the days when he was among them, actually one of them. That was before the the day became something that was just tolerated for show. He was a creature of the night now, forever walking the streets to make shady deals with people in back alleys for something they normally only wanted for a short time anyway. He sighed to himself as he walked around aimlessly, not at all fazed by the poor people he was walking past. If they wanted him, they’d call soon enough, they always did, but only when they were really desperate. He made his living off of the fools after all, none of them even aware of the actual price of his services until it was too late for them to do anything about it.

As the short blonde man walked into _Hot Wings,_ a club owned by one of his colleagues and partners in crime, Sam Wilson, he took in the smell of stale sweat and cigarettes. In his youth, a place like this would have bothered him, but now… He wished things would bother him. Maybe that would give him an excuse to actually _feel_ something about the world around him besides hollow resignation.

“Steve! You’re here early,” a black man called, drawing the blond’s attention over to the bar. Steve rolled his eyes, clearly not at all surprised with this exclamation.

“So I am,” he replied dryly as he made his way over to the black man. “But so are you, Sam. Has anyone been asking for me?”

The usual answer to that particular question was no, and apparently, this was no exception. “Only the people from last night, but you’ve already talked to them. Business has been slow for all of us. People are actually starting to consider how they want to spend their nights. Apparently a club in the middle of downtown Brooklyn isn’t the place to be,” he sighed, scrubbing at an invisible stain on the counter.

Steve scowled, clearly not liking that answer. “Well we can’t have that. I have a feeling something is going to happen, soon, that’s going to change how people choose to spend their nights. And coming to your club is definitely high on that list,” he declared as he sat down at the bar. “Is Clint in, do you know?” he asked, sipping at his lukewarm coffee. Sam shook his head.

“I haven’t heard from him since last week. He apparently got a call from a higher up and was transferred to Russia for the time being. I guess there was a problem that needed his area of expertise,” Sam elaborated, causing the blond’s scowl to deepen. Why didn’t they ever transfer _him_? He was older than half the people doing his job in this city, not that he looked like it. He didn’t look a day over 21. Maybe that was part of the problem…

“Alright, well let me know when he gets back in, I need to talk to him. I was thinking about changing how we do the job because I’m not sure how much more I can take this lack of business,” he stated as he pushed himself away from the bar and out of the club only to be immediately hit with the bright morning sun. He hated mornings the most, they were too bright for his tastes.

As he started back down the sidewalk with his coffee, he felt eyes on the back of his head. He turned he head, as if he was thinking about crossing the street, when the man tailing him caught his eye. He was wearing mostly whites, had long brown hair in a man bun, and was staring straight at him. Steve sighed, he would know this guy’s type anywhere. Steve didn’t have time for the likes of this guy, or anyone like him for that matter, so he sped up, weaving through the crowd with practiced ease. When he turned to check to see if the man in white was still behind him, he frowned, not seeing him almost positive he was still being tailed. When he turned back to walk forward, he ran right into the man in white. He hated how beautiful this man’s breed was. “Leave me alone, angel. I don’t have time for the likes of you,” Steve snapped, glaring at him as he pushed the man out of his way.

“No need for all of that, I just came to talk,” he defended, putting his hands up in surrender. “My name is James. Can I have a moment of your time?” he asked politely. Steve _hated_ how nice angels got when they were in public. It was almost fake with how overly sincere it was. They were all goody two shoes, the lot of them. Granted, they didn’t act as arrogent as some of the humans he did business with… Still… The world would be a better place if they kept their noses where they actually belonged.

“Go to hell,” Steve spat when the angel, James, moved back into Steve’s way.

“Well that was rude of you. I will _not_ in fact, being going there. You should do as I ask, I only want to talk. If you talk, you’ll be able to live to see another day. Isn’t that what everyone one?” he reasoned, clearly thinking he was giving the blond and weak looking little demon a great deal, maybe even the deal of a lifetime. It honestly made Steve want to jump off a bridge.

“Like I said before, go fuck yourself,” he replied once again shoving James away, glaring at him when the angel seemed unfazed with the hostile attitude. Maybe he didn’t know how demons worked with people they didn’t like. “Or how about this. I’ll talk to you if you make a deal with me. I’ll even show you all of the power you’re missing out on. When I’m done, I leave and you never bother me again. Take it or leave it,” he stated as he crossed his arms over his thin chest. It was times like this where Steve wished he actually looked intimidating without having to try so hard. Steve didn’t have to deal with angels often, but this guy seemed new. “Or I mean I could kill you. That could be fun.”

The angel frowned at him, clearly not used to being around a demon for this long a period of time. Which definitely meant he was a rookie. Maybe he was in the same boat Steve was when he first became a demon? Not exactly sure how to act but more than willing to try and do everything that his superiors said? “...What kind of power would you be teaching me to use?” he asked, skeptical of the blond in front of him. Good, at least he had a brain.

“The power that I know you don’t have now,” Steve shrugged, looking down at his nails in an incredibly bored kind of manner. It was making his angel ‘friend’ nervous, if the way he was suddenly shifting his weight around on his feet was any indication.

“...Alright. And you’ll give me the information I need?” James asked, making Steve look up from his nails. The blond nodded, a ghost of a smirk dusting his face. “Then it’s a deal I guess,” was the last thing he said before Steve forcefully pulled him in for an aggressive kiss. When he finally pulled himself away, it was too late. 

The last thing that James remembered was excruciating pain erupting from the base of his wings, and a satisfied smirk from the demon he only now realized had screwed him over. It was also that moment that he knew that his own fate had been sealed, and even though he wasn’t aware of it, so was Steve’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and reviews give me the life blood I need to keep writing.


End file.
